


Born to be Mild

by secretagentfan



Category: No. 6 (Anime & Manga), No. 6 - All Media Types, No. 6 - Asano Atsuko
Genre: AU, M/M, motorcycle/mechanic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-28 22:58:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17191868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secretagentfan/pseuds/secretagentfan
Summary: Shion's not your typical biker with his cardigans and grandpa shoes, but Nezumi is sure sweating anyway.Motorcycle/Mechanic AU written for aoicanvas for the no.6 secret santa 2018!





	Born to be Mild

**Author's Note:**

> How is...no. 6...the best...?

     If Nezumi had to pick one word to describe Shion it would be—without a shadow of a doubt— dangerous.

     Most wouldn’t think this. Nezumi certainly didn’t, the day he met Shion, when he ambled into his repair shop on the sketchiest side of town in a light blue cardigan. Shion looked all parts youthful-grandpa-in-training and no parts actual nutcase but that’s the thing about first impressions: they lie.

     He had wandered around the poorly-insulated garage, examining the heavy metal board that listed all the prices for basic maintenance Nezumi was capable of, the types of vehicles he could work with, and recommendations for where to go if different or specialized help was needed.

     Nezumi loved that board. He welded it himself after dealing with a particularly difficult customer that couldn’t seem to understand that the shop was no longer run by his grandmother, that she wasn’t coming back, and that he had no idea what his “usual” order with her entailed.

     Customer service had never been Nezumi’s specialty. Performing was only fun with a worthy script and “No, your engine is smoking because you ran over a traffic cone, _sir_ ” was hardly Shakespearean.

     Since the genesis of the board, however, the necessity for customer service dwindled dramatically. Now when a customer came in, all Nezumi had to do was look up from one of his scripts, and point a thumb at it. Much easier. Saved everyone time.

     “Does your shop carry owner’s manuals?” Shion had asked that day, likely attempting to pull Nezumi’s gaze away from _Life of Galileo._

     “A manual should have come with your vehicle,” Nezumi recited, turning the page.

     “I’m sure it did, but I wasn’t the one who purchased the vehicle. I only inherited it.”

   Nezumi looked up, barely. He recognized that this was indeed an issue that required a modicum his attention.

     “Type of car?”

     Shion shook his head, pulled out his phone, and showed Nezumi a picture of an old Suzuki SV650 motorcycle.

     “This is mine.”

     Really, that should have been the first red flag. The second came immediately after when Nezumi actually looked at Shion properly and noticed he had a full head of white hair under his beanie. Not blonde, not grey, but _white_. It was a color Nezumi had never thought could look natural on anyone, and yet there it was.

     “I didn’t dye it.” Shion says, returning Nezumi’s stare with a polite smile.

     “You brag on that to everyone, don’t you?” Nezumi returned, a half-tease, shutting his book.

     Shion only looked confused. He folded his hands on Nezumi’s desk. “I wouldn’t say brag. Most people are curious and ask. That’s why I wear the hat.”

     “Considerate, aren’t you?”

     Shion smiled, even though there was nothing to smile about. “I try to be.”

     Nezumi helped Shion find his manual on google. He gave him a few tips about maintaining balance when riding which Shion drank in with a kind of genuine admiration that didn’t make Nezumi’s heart flutter so much as stand still.

     Dangerous.

* * *

 

     The next day, Shion was back at his shop, only this time he brought his bike with him for inspection.

     Nezumi nearly screamed at the sight of it. “What the hell have you been doing on this?”

     Shion blinked. “Is something wrong with it?”

     “The tread’s almost completely worn down. I can _see_ the wire.”

     “Should you…not? Is that dangerous?”

     “Only if you think catching on fire is dangerous.”

     “Oh.”

     “Please tell me you didn’t ride it over here.”

     Shion’s silence was damning. Nezumi put a hand on his forehead.

     _This guy is going to die._ Nezumi thought, but instead of voicing this thought, he pointed at the board. Shion followed his finger, but looked so perplexed Nezumi found himself explaining.

     “I can’t even start the inspection until these tires get fixed. You can do that here, but the new tires will come out of your pocket. Plus clearly something’s fucked up your chain— I’ll fix that too, but I’ll need to practically dismantle the whole thing and add new parts.”

     Shion nodded. “Thank you, I really appreciate it.”

     He wasn’t wearing his hat, today. Clearly Shion’s desire not to answer questions about his hair was surpassed only by hot weather. His hair was fluffier than expected; it reminded Nezumi a little of a sheep dog.           

     “Better get someone to pick you up, this will take a while,” Nezumi said, finally, undoing his own hair and tying it higher with the hair tie around his wrist. It was going to be a long day.

     Shion nodded again, and pulled out his phone.

     Nezumi showed Shion the customer couch, purposefully kept as far away from his work station as possible. Shion clearly didn’t understand why, because the second Nezumi got to work, he started talking.

     “Your garage is awfully small. I can see you from here.”

     “Astute observation. Maybe I should charge for the incredible view. ”

     Shion frowned. “You’re very sarcastic.”

     “Comes with the greasy mechanic image.”

     “Now you’re contradicting yourself.”

     Nezumi glanced up from the ragged tire he was currently removing. “What?”

     “You can’t be both an ‘incredible view’ and a ‘greasy mechanic’.”

     Nezumi clicked his tongue. “I contain multitudes.”

     Shion’s laugh echoed through the empty shop. Nezumi smiled, barely, and reached for a fresh tire.

     Mercifully, after the first hour, Shion had transitioned into focused staring and the occasional unobtrusive work question. At hour three, Shion stood and walked out of the shop, and Nezumi exhaled, finally able to give the bike his full focus—only for Shion to return a short while after with two brown bags.

     “I brought you one too, although, I wasn’t sure what you’d like.”

     Nezumi almost dropped his wrench.

     “What?”

     “Sandwiches. There’s a little deli right next door. It’s very good. I’ll set yours right here.”

     “Don’t you have someone coming to pick you up, Mr. Considerate?”

     Shion winced. “No. Unfortunately. My friend who would usually pick me up is out of town. I should have asked. If I’m bothering you I can wait at the deli.”

     “You aren’t. Thanks for the food.” Nezumi found himself answering. He wiped some sweat off his forehead to his immediate regret and reached for a rag to wipe his hands.

     “I brought you some water too. I wasn’t aware just how hot garages get in the summer.”

     Nezumi sighed, tossed the rag somewhere on the floor and greedily accepted the water. He downed half of it, bottle crunching.

     “It’s this garage mainly. Piece of shit.”

     “Is it that bad?” Shion blinked.

     “Yes,” Nezumi replied. He grabbed his sandwich and sank onto the customer couch next to Shion. He figured if Shion took the time to bring him food, he probably wouldn’t file a complaint if Nezumi sat beside him. “Roof leaks, insulation’s terrible, but the tools are here, and it’s mine so.”

     Shion hummed thoughtfully, unwrapping his sandwich. “That sounds kind of like my motorcycle.”

     Nezumi _looked_ at Shion. “I didn’t actively break my roof, unlike you and your poor tread.”

     Shion held up his hands, looking ready to apologize again. Nezumi eased up on him, elbowing him lightly.

     “But you inherited the bike, so maybe it’s similar. Inherited goods, inherited problems.”

     Shion nodded “It was my dad’s. He left when I was a baby, so I never really knew him— not even well enough to feel much about that. Still, having it and driving it now…I do feel more connected to the past, if that makes sense.”

     Shion played with a string of his bangs as he talked. He was so open, perfectly comfortable sharing these facts about himself with a stranger. Nezumi stared.

     “I think what I’m trying to say is it’s important to have items like that. To remember those who came before you, and the imprint they left on the world.”

     Nezumi swallowed his bite of sandwich, and folded the rest up in the wrapper.

     “Well, let’s see if I can fix your imprint, Shion.”

     “Yes please!” Shion grinned, wrapping up his sandwich too.

* * *

      It was dark outside, by the time Nezumi finished. Shion had graduated from the couch to _right beside_ Nezumi, and watched him work. If Shion were anyone else, Nezumi would have killed him, but there was something about Shion’s stupid cardigan and stupid sincere willingness to _learn_ that made pushing him away seem…cruel.

     Shion was also unexpectedly quiet when close by: a welcome bonus.

     “Done.” Nezumi said.

     “That’s it?” Shion asked, head tilted, as if looking at the bike from another angle would reveal another broken component.

     “That’s it. Now I’m closed. You stayed way past time. Go home.”

     “Do you live far from here?” Shion asked, and Nezumi felt the frown form on his face. “I’m just asking because I didn’t see a car in the garage.”

     Oh why did Shion have to be so observant? “I walked. I live about 5 minutes from—“

     “I can drive you home!” Shion beamed, like this was a great idea and not a terrible one.

     “I’m not going to get mugged outside my own shop, Shion.”

     “Not with me driving you,” Shion announced, bright enough to raise the sun.

     Nezumi was tired. He stared at Shion, wondering exactly how he let himself get into this situation. Shion stared back, confused, before finally getting the hint.

     “Unless you don’t want to. That’s fine too. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to press.”

     Dammit, Nezumi wavered. This was all just so mind-blowingly stupid, and Shion _had_ bought him lunch; he didn’t _want_ to ruin his day. “You can drive me home, Shion.”

     Shion smiled, and Nezumi had to bite his cheek to keep from smiling back.

     “Have you ever ridden a motorcycle before?” Shion asked, easily mounting the bike in a way that made Nezumi’s mouth go oddly dry and made him question his place in the universe.

     “Once or twice,” he replied, climbing on the bike behind Shion. He didn’t touch him, yet.

     “I was sort of hoping it was your first time. It’s an exciting feeling.”

     “Adrenaline is a wild thing,” Nezumi drawled, as Shion revved the engine once. The bike thrummed to life underneath them.

     “It sure is!” Shion agreed, raising his voice over the hum of the engine. “Oh! I almost forgot—put this on!”

     A small blue helmet was placed in Nezumi’s hands. He looked at it, then looked back at Shion.

     “Go on. I want you to be safe.”

     Shion smiled warmly, and Nezumi’s stomach twisted. He put the helmet on to hide the heat on his cheeks.

     “Are you ready?” Shion asked. Nezumi wrapped his arms around his waist, hands on his stupid cardigan. He was warm. Solid. Nezumi wanted to lean closer. He shot the idea down immediately.

     “Go on Shion,” Nezumi grunted.

     Shion only smiled, and pushed them forward, into the night. He drove fast, fearlessly and laughed without inhibition into the wind.

     Nezumi held onto Shion and his own stupid melting heart for dear life.


End file.
